


start to melt in your clutch

by liliumweiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, TikTok, oh that's an actual tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliumweiss/pseuds/liliumweiss
Summary: All obsessions start innocently. Tiktok, however, is a goddamned rabbit hole, one Emma Swan has fallen into and doesn’t seem to be able to get out of. Enter Killian Jones, who suggests she get that song out of her system. And Emma Swan has never ever backed away from a challenge.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	start to melt in your clutch

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t thank @csconcertseries enough! Literally, this event kind of saved me from singing Snow Miser’s song all. the. time. And there are a few other songs mentioned in the fic that I’ve been obsessed with, of course. I wrote this fic in just a few days and it was absolutely therapeuthical - it didn’t help me forget all about tiktok, however, but eh, can’t really have it all, can I?
> 
> Anyway, big thanks to @clockadile for creating this event, @carpedzem and @shardminds for being awesome supporters and to everyone I’ve sent tiktok videos to and who would probably just want to strangle me. Sorry?
> 
> Rated not-even-much-M for mentions of smut at the end. Mostly, this is just crack.
> 
> Enjoy!

All obsessions start innocently.

That's what Emma Swan always tells herself to defend her latest addiction: she didn't obsess over colorful Converse on purpose; she buys all books in a series with the same cover style because that's the sensible thing to do, no matter if the new edition is prettier; she does _not_ get obsessed over tv shows or movies because they are mainstream, she watches them because that's what Netflix offers and nothing else attracts her; she doesn't get one song stuck in her head for days to end because that's the song of the moment and everyone's supposed to know it. And, most definitely, she is _not_ obsessed with Killian Jones.

_Liar, liar, slutty dress on fire!_

She growls at the silky voice of Tom Ellis in her mind.

Well, maybe she is a bit obsessed by him, but it strictly on a professional level.

And Tom is about to open his mouth again.

Alright, not exactly totally professional level. But he doesn't need to know that. He mustn't.

Killian Jones is just… the most talented make-up artist she's ever met. Those kids on YouTube can only dream to be like Killian, and even if some are his age, they still have a long way to go.

The stars call him all the time when he's not on set. _Hell_ , Vanessa Hudgens and Blake Lively have him on freaking speed dial. And god, he got to do Lady Gaga's make up as well, once. Emma would sell her soul for such an opportunity.

Hers is not envy, though. No, Emma knows that's not how it works in the industry: you either are talented or you are not. If you are not, you're out.

Emma is good, very good, but compared to Killian, she's just a kid coloring inside the lines to his Da Vinci: he's the creative one, the one to always come up with new ideas for their stars' make-up.

There's some kind of rivalry between the two of them, but it's mostly a game. In fact, this is probably the problem: there's no serious competition going on, they both are good at what they do and spend so much time joking and entertaining make-up free conversations she would almost say they are _friends_.

_The horror_ , Tom muses with what would be a sardonic smile.

Flustered, Emma clenches her teeth and rubs her brushes harder under the flowing water.

_Alright, dude_ , she concedes, they _are_ friends. Kind of. Friends from work. They don't really spend time together after work, they don't have the same group of friends even though they’ve had to move to Vancouver and both have apartments in Los Angeles they rent out and he’s been over at her house enough times for her cat to fall in love with him.

Friends. They are friends. Somehow. But platonic ones, they don’t do those things best friends do in books and movies and they are _not_ pining one after the other. That’s… _inconceivable_.

_Liar, lia-_

_Shut the fuck up, Tom!_

She’s grateful she doesn’t snap the brush in her hand. That would mean admitting too many things and none of those would be on the same level of just having to buy a new brush. Adding that to the pile would probably make her cry, though.

Knuckles rasp against the trailer’s door, making her jump. Only one person knocks before entering _anywhere_ , and said person is no one other than the one she can’t get out of her head. Tom Ellis is probably somewhere in her head smiling in delight.

«Come in!» she calls before Killian starts wondering why she’s not answering. Partially because of her nerves, Emma eases back into humming an old song she discovered only because of her newest obsession: TikTok.

No, scratch that, that’s not an obsession: that’s a goddamned rabbit hole.

It started as a joke, mostly, with Ruby sending her videos of funny stuff, animals, pranks, the sort of videos that were once on Vine, but ten thousand times _worse_. Sweet Jesus, the first few times she spent _hours_ scrolling down, video after video, not even realizing it was well past two in the morning and she had to wake up at six because they were filing in the early morning. Fuck. Her. Life.

It didn’t stop there. Of course it did not.

Steering away from the _kids_ \- and boy, do twenty-year-olds look like children - she managed to find several people to follow, but she mostly stays on the infamous “for you” page, and keeps scrolling. At least she doesn’t go through the hashtags. Or rather, she didn’t until last night.

«How do you know that song?»

Of course Mr. Ancient knows it.

She whimpers, immediately embarrassed. «Do I really have to?»

Killian chuckles, settling down in one chair and swirling around to face her where she is, hands behind his head. At the sight, Emma almost lets out another pathetic whimper: it’s unfair the way he just keeps his shirt rolled up his forearms even in winter and has no problem in wandering around like that.

«Aw, come on, Swan, it can’t be that bad.»

_It can, trust me_. Biting her lip, she turns her focus back on the task at hand. «Have you thought about the make-up for the ball episode? They want it glamour and extravagant and the same time, so I thought to go with-»

«Love,» the word stops her immediately, and she feels her cheek burning, «the song. I don’t doubt your capabilities, I know you’ll do a bloody amazing job on Elsa.»

_Fuck you_ , Emma wants to hiss, and Tom just bends backwards the newspaper he’s reading to look at her with raised eyebrows. She speaks before he can - either of them. «TikTok,» she spits out, almost as if it physically hurts. «It’s this stupid challenge people do in which they do half their face to represent winter and the other half usually looks like something’s aflame.» Emma glances quickly in his direction out of the corner of her eye. «I might have watched several videos. For hours to end. Happy now?»

And here he is, with his soft, sweeter-than-honey smile she simply cannot resist. Thank goodness she can casually lean against the sink as her knees buckle at the sight.

«Very much,» Killian has the audacity to reply.

Forbidding herself to pout like a child, Emma puts away the last brush and goes to the chair right next to Killian’s, swirling on it so she can face him. «Some are good,» she finds herself say, «and it’s fun to see what they come up with when they are not professionals. It’s refreshing.»

There’s a difference between being a good make-up artist and doing make-up tutorials for Halloween looks, because some of those are really, _really_ good, and Emma had to pick up her jaw several times. It’s nothing she couldn’t do, but it’s the inventiveness behind it that surprises and hurts her at the same time.

«How many of them use SPfX make-up?»

Emma snorts. «A few, mostly for blisters or chilblains, but they don’t tend to exaggerate. I’ve seen a few fake icicles, though. Oh, and there was one who turned it into an elf cosplay. Some cosplay the actual characters and yes, Jones, I’ve searched where the song comes from.» She wiggles her eyebrows at him. «How come _you_ know that song?»

Suddenly, his eyes become distant and sad, lost in a fond memory that also brings heartbreak. «Mum used to read the book to Liam and me, the movie came after, but the song still managed to get in my head. It’s been a while since I last heard of it.»

All Emma wants to do is wrapping him in her arms. She knows all too well what being lonely means, and though his brother is alive, he still is miles and miles away. Besides, nothing compares to a mother’s love, not that Emma would know.

Breaking out of his reverie, Killian shakes his head slightly. «You wanted to talk about the ball episode?»

And just likes that, all falls back into place and the sadness melts away.

-/-

« _I'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow. I'm Mister Icicle; I'm Mister Ten below,_ » Emma hums to herself, rather quietly, as she works on Elsa’s make-up while Ruby does her magic with the actress’ hair. The moment the last word rolls off her tongue, Emma mutters a curse.

Elsa chuckles, and so does Ruby, who looks at her with arched eyebrows. «I’ve lost counts of how many times I heard you sing or hum or _whistle_ this song. It’s been what, two weeks already since you began?»

«Uhm, yeah.»

It’s ridiculous, really, and not just because one song managed to get stuck in her head for so long, but because of how childish said song is. Not bad, no, just… ah, who is she kidding? Emma Swan can turn into a child as well, with or without a song. Besides, Killian likes her singing it, and sometimes he joins in, so it’s _not_ that bad.

«I know what we need here,» Elsa says typing on her phone before the first strings of _Toss a coin to your Witcher_ fill the trailer. A pained groan echo in the large space, and Emma snickers, knowing everyone has seen the show by now and the song might have just left their systems.

Will curses at them, but his fingers can’t stop tapping to the rhythm while the others join in singing the chorus. Someone’s filming them, and soon they’ll be all over the web, but Emma doesn’t care, they’re helping her, and that’s more than anyone else ever did for her. They truly have become somewhat of a family.

Alas, forgetting one song ain’t that easy.

It doesn’t help that her birthday cake seems to have been baked whilst listening to the song on repeat, with fake shards of ice and rock candies. She hates them so much, almost as much as she loves them.

She’s enjoying a huge slice of cake during lunch in the shades of the trees where they filmed outdoors, the weather keeping up quite nicely, when Killian sits down next to her.

«I was thinking,» he starts while looking at the lake in front of them, legs stretched out.

«Mhm, bad things happen when you do that,» Emma jokes, nudging him with her shoulder, only to be nudged back. At her second nudge, he steals a piece of her cake. «Hey!»

Nothing can stop her breath to catch as her eyes fall on his lips in time to witness his tongue sweeping frosting and chocolate crumbs into his mouth.

_Good god_. Oh, she’s so fucked.

«As I was about to say,» Killian squints at her, eyes sparkling with a light she knows all too well, «I think you literally have to get that song out of your system.»

Emma splutters, choking on air. Did she hear him correctly? Does he mean-

«Mind out of the gutter, Swan, you can't exactly fuck a song.» _Goodness, he's so brazen._ «I merely meant doing that challenge yourself.»

_Oh_. Her eyebrows knit together. She never thought about doing that. Okay, she _did_ , but never seriously and never for too long, definitely not long enough to form a plan.

«That’s actually… not a bad idea at all,» Emma concedes, thoughtful. It would be like scratching an itch, and heaven know she did plenty of that. Used to, not so much anymore.

Killian’s grin is so wide his dimples show and her heart tumbles a bit as it starts racing. «I know it’s not, and tell you what, I’ll raise the stakes: _we_ are going to compete against one another.»

Shock must be clear on her face because his expression shifts from amused to concern and she’s not exactly feeling the absurd amount of muscles attached to her skull. Only when he appears to go up and down ever so slowly she realizes she’s nodding.

The concern doesn’t disappear, but he masks it quickly beneath a daring expression. «That is, unless you think you can’t handle it.»

Emma finds herself scoffing at his bravado. «Perhaps _you_ are the one who can’t handle it.»

The way his eyebrow quirks makes the corners of her mouth twitch.

_Oh, it’s_ so _on_.

-/-

Her cat loves Killian Jones.

There’s no point in denying it: Lucifer loves Killian almost more than he does Emma.

Right now, in fact, he’s stretched atop the back of the couch, tongue intent in licking Killian’s hair, making strands stick up like stalagmites. From his part, Killian is not bothered at all; in fact, as Emma takes a better look at him, he seems rather comfortable.

Her heart beats a little bit faster at the scene, at how homey it looks…

She swiftly takes a huge gulp of hot cocoa, the burning sensation doing nothing to cancel the image from her head. It is the last thing she needs today, with her house being almost assaulted by their friends because now their challenge has become public knowledge not only among the cast and crew, but the public as well. The audience went _nuts_ over two make-up artists challenging one another, and now it has become some sort of “you have twenty-four hours to vote which one is best in our Instagram stories” with no actual prize in sight.

They are supposed to film the challenge in two different rooms and only two people are allowed inside, none of which being part of the make-up crew. Ruby is also banned from assisting them, but she’ll live and will surely post so many pictures and videos of Lucifer.

In the days leading to the weekend, Emma has formed a plan, never testing it - that’s one of the things they agreed upon - but doing calculations anyway because if she has to lose, she’ll do it with style. Including a time limit to the challenge was not her best idea.

Right at two o’clock, after a lunch Emma prepared - she _has_ some skills, after all - Ruby comes into the living room whistling with two fingers in her mouth to catch their attention, as if it could be impossible to miss her.

She is, of course, filming - and whoever gave her the password to the official account of the show must be crazy, and Emma now knows there will be behind the scenes videos. It is strange for once feeling like the star of the show, but at the same time she doesn’t exactly mind.

«Alright, darlings, here. We. Go! You two, go get ready.» Ruby walks to the couch, scooping up the long haired black who meows his discontent. «Come on, Lucy, let’s leave Killy here go so he can lose to your mum, uh?»

Emma can’t help the smile ticking her lips upwards before she walks into her bedroom, all she needs neatly arranged on her vanity. For an outsider, the amount of products she’ll use would appear overwhelming and just _too much_ , but it truly is all she needs for the perfect effect she’s planned.

An outsider, however, could definitely tell she’s more than nervous.

In order to calm herself down, Emma goes into the bathroom, changes into a strapless top and washes her face before carefully drying her skin.

A soft knocking makes her look towards the door where Elsa is leaning against the frame. «Come on, Ems, you can crush this. And don’t say you’ll lose for sure because he’s too good at what he does. Killian is amazing, but you are, too.» A wicked grin spreads on her lips. «I mean, I know it’s mostly pent-up sexual frustration, so maybe I should go say the challenge is postponed until you two fuck your brains out?»

At this point, Emma could forego the red paint she needs on half her face: her blush is enough. «Go away, Elsa,» she splutters, waving her friend out.

«Okay, bye,» the other blonde singsongs with a wink.

Elsa can be such a tease, but she’s a very good friend, one of the best Emma has here in Vancouver.

After dividing her hair in two ponytails and putting an hairband over her hairline, Emma steps out, her phone ready to record the first part of the challenge when she appears completely bare-faced and the song begins.

The first few seconds of recording are easy, she’s adjusting the headband and smiling conspiratorially at the camera. And then she’s off.

First there’s paint, covering half of her face in a way that has her cringe, because she might be a make-up artist, but she’s not one for too much make-up. As she talks with Elsa and Graham, Emma loses track of time, her movements quick and precise as they throw the bases for her masterpiece.

Briefly, Emma explains what the final effect should be like and doesn’t realize Graham is filming until she distractedly looks at him.

«What-»

«The network wants a behind the scenes to put up after the winner is proclaimed.»

_Of course they want that_.

Emma just rolls her eyes and goes back to the task at hand, humming the song to herself as she applies shade over shade of blue eyeshadow until it reaches a perfect white that she turns into a dull grey to give a bone effect. She’s going for a realistic touch, and with Halloween fast approaching, the more horrifying she looks, the better.

It’s Elsa that remembers her to film the parts for the challenge, and though she’s new to this whole TikTok stop-and-go thing, Emma is a fast learner.

Designing the teeth isn’t as easy as it might look, but what’s harder is giving the effect of a _true_ skull: the depth, the way teeth and bones shine beneath the light so to not appear fake. What Emma fears the most, right now, is not being able to make the other side as good as she is the one on the right, Snow Miser’s one.

The effect is, in fact, quite stunning, if she dares say so, but Emma must not be too sure of herself. By the time she finishes the right side of her face, her skin - ears as well - is various shades of blue, grey, white and black. Theatrics demand she adds an eyeroll here and a wink there, and she does kind of feel like a fool, but she laughs it off with a shrug.

When her make-up is done, or at least half of it, with long white and icy blue fake eyelashes, Emma feels giddiness bubbling up deep inside: it’s not about the win, it’s about the fun she’s having.

Hairstyling is not exactly her field, but she’s had to work alongside stylist for the most part of her career, which allowed her to pick up a few tricks. Thankfully, she _did_ try spray dye once or twice before, so she knows what to do to get the effect she wants, doesn’t matter if she’ll die intoxicated in the meantime.

Elsa gasps as soon as she realizes what Emma is doing: if there’s something holy for Emma, that’s her hair.

«Don’t,» Emma warns her friend as she sprays silver dye on her hair, «I’m already regretting it.» _No pain, no gain, that’s how it is_.

Her heart starts beating faster and faster as she applies light blue dye, and as soon as she twists the strands in a loose braid that falls on her painted shoulders, it almost stops. If she manages to do the other side of her head just as good, she’s going to win, Emma just _knows_ it.

«I should say I’m used to them, but contacts are horrible,» she murmurs, carefully applying the full white one to the eye on the right.

Graham snorts. «Whoever thinks those who use contacts are used to or even like them, is a fool.»

Premade accessories are the only ones allowed in the competition, so Emma carefully takes the icicles hairpin she made that morning and secures it right behind her head where the braid begins so the tips of the icicles stick out just right. Last but not least, it’s the earring she chooses on a whim, because she can _see_ how perfect it is. After all, Emma has a weak spot for Percossi Papi, and the moon earring with white and blue gemstones is just perfect.

«Damn,» Graham comments with a low whistle.

In the mirror, Emma sees Elsa’s shock as her jaw plummets toward the ground. «You’re officially hired for life.»

Emma laughs, and perhaps this is the victory she was truly aiming for.

Now, however, she has to concentrate, because even for make-up artists, mirroring the effect on the other side of the face can be tough.

Brushes fly over her face, paint and eyeshadows coat her skin with black and reds and white, and slowly it seems as if her skull bares itself to those in the room, so realistic Emma feels a rush of excitement run down her spine.

This time, her hair is almost completely red, fading halfway to orange and then a bit of enhanced yellow at the tips. The same goes for the roots, where Emma shaded the colours until it fades towards her natural blonde. The colors on the two halves of her face are blended together as well, not separated by a line or flames or just side by side, they blend together and that makes the skull beneath pop up even more.

When she adds the full eye black contact, Emma almost wants to weep: the effect is extraordinary and she just feels like the queen of the world. Or the underworld, as it is.

A few strands of flaming waves Emma otherwise lets loose are pulled back and pinned behind her head with a hairpin made of glass shaped into a flaming red flower. Another one of Percossi Papi’s earrings, a sun with reddish stones, complete the look.

When she gulps, the vertebrae she’s painted down her neck move. She needs to film the last bit, the last “ _I’m too much_ ”, the final look, but she can’t bring herself to.

«How much time have I left?»

Elsa looks at the timer. «About thirty minutes.» She whistles, «You’re fast.»

Reining in the urge to stick her tongue out at her friend, Emma opens one of the drawers to pull out nail polish kit she’s not used in ages. _Now or never_.

«All I can do is praying that it won’t be a mess,» Emma mutters to herself, knowing even just one smudge or a chipped nail will send her into a frenzy. That’s why she goes for a some shade shifter nail polish in the lightest tones of blue and adds some snowflakes stamps.

«Time?»

«Enough for you to do the other hand just as beautifully. Breathe, don’t stress, you’re going to nail this!»

It takes them about two seconds before losing it, laughing so hard Graham can’t even hold the camera up and Elsa is lying flat on Emma’s bed.

«I hate you!» Emma sobs, desperately trying to keep the tears that have pooled in her eyes from falling; the last thing she needs is to see all her efforts ruined when she has no time to fix it. But she’s grateful for her friend’s timing, because that bad joke has the same effect of an anti-stress ball.

«You love me and you know it!»

Emma huffs out a laugh, shaking her head before getting back to the task at hand, choosing a polish she never thought she would ever use.

Behind her, Elsa scrunches her nose. «I thought that trend died ages ago. _Hoped_ it did.»

«You and me both. But desperate times call for desperate measures,» Emma sighs, looking down at the crackle nail polish, black on a coat of a red-orange that could pass for lava. It’s not the best effect, and she would not endure it for longer than it was needed, but at least it gives her that little touch of craziness she needs to boost the look.

And then it’s done.

After hours of work, it’s done, and she feels like she’s just won the whole goddamn lottery.

«I can’t wait to see Killian’s face when he sees you like this.»

Graham snickers. «He’s probably going to ask her to marry him in no time.»

«How dare you?» Elsa gasps in mock shock. «He needs to court her first!»

The Irishman’s eyes widen. «What do you mean? He’s not courted her for the past two years of unresolved sexual tension?»

It's a very good thing that all that make-up covers her skin so heavily they can't see her blush, _that_ would be catastrophic.

Ultimately, Emma decides to just throw Elsa a pillow and glare at Graham before standing up and making her way to the living room.

Curiosity spikes through her, because there’s no way she doesn’t want to see what Killian came up with.

Gasps fill the air upon her entrance, and Ruby is this close to drop Lucifer, eyes bulging. Emma smiles smugly, cocking a brow before twirling around, only coming to a stop when Killian strides into the living room as well, mouth hanging open to mirror hers.

He’s… _stunning_.

More than, he’s _breathtaking_.

The colors on his face, much like hers, are blended, showing some sort of continuity in the transition. At the center of Killian’s forehead, is a perfect half snowflake that meets a flaming sun, the details so perfect Emma wonders if he ever thought about becoming a painter.

Fake icicles hang from his right jaw and-

«You shaved?!»

Her high-pitched scream makes everyone laugh, but does nothing to diminish her shock: in all the time she’s known Killian Jones, he never _ever_ shaved. Not until today.

The man shrugs, but there _is_ a faint blush beneath all that make-up, she can _see_ it. «And you used- hmm.» He leans closer, inspecting her hair. «Color spray?»

Emma clicks her tongue, arms crossing in front of her chest. «And _you_ used… oh god, you _did_ use color wax on _your_ hair?»

The blush deepens, and only when Killian tilts his head slightly, Emma notices what additional accessories he used.

«Oh my god you went for the ice and fire elf effect!» she exclaims, pointing a finger toward the prosthetic ears he sported. _As if he needs them!_ And on the top left temple, a dark horn is sticking out from a very much realistic hole.

_Holy shit_.

«And you went for the skull. Which, by the way, is bloody magnificent.» There’s a light in his eyes that tells her he’s restraining himself from inspecting her closer, and that’s then that Emma realizes Killian didn’t use contacts, making the blue pop thanks to his skills instead. There’s also no fake eyelashes in sight, because really, the man’s ones are already dark, thick and long as fuck, every woman’s wet dream.

When it comes to eyelashes goals, of course.

Inside Emma’s mind, Tom cocks a brow. _Really, now?_

_Fucking British people and their fucking accent_.

Emma blushes, muttering a “thank you” under her breath. Hoping not to embarrass herself further, she studies his hair: the fact that he used wax to dye his hair is obvious to her, and the effect is much more prettier than what she accomplished using spray colors. Half of his dark chocolate hair has been coloured in white, silver and blue, whereas the other half sports bright dark streaks next to orange and golden ones. She has to clench her hands into fists to stop the urge to run her fingers through Killian’s hair, to feel if it really is as soft as it looks. That would also knock the crown, half white crystals, half golden leaves, off his head.

It is Ruby who breaks the spell, smiling smugly as she announces the videos are about to be uploaded, therefore dragging the two artists to the couch, where they sit next to each other to admire their work.

At this point, Emma doesn’t really care about winning anymore, because probably, the most rewarding win is the awe in which Killian still looks at her.

-/-

It’s not until a few hours later, when they all ate too many snacks to have a normal dinner, that everyone but Killian leaves Emma’s house, both Elsa and Ruby winking at the blonde on their way out.

Emma rolls her eyes, which have been freed from the contacts, much like her lobes have been relieved of the heavy earrings and her nails are now back to their natural aspect. The headpieces she put together are now on the coffee table with Killian’s crown and the prosthetic ears. Lucifer, of course, is curled up on Killian’s lap.

_Traitor_. Emma squints at the two of them, so comfortably sat on the couch as if they belong there. Lucifer does, but Killian…

_Wishful thinking, darling?_ , Tom taunts her with a grin.

She shuts him up, clearing her voice. «Do you want to stay for dinner?»

_Did she just ask that?_

Tom laughs. _My, my, I didn’t peg you for that kind of girl. I’m impressed._ Brava _._

Killian must be shocked as well because he stares at her in surprise, eyes wide and _god_ , the way they pop thanks to the make-up should be deemed illegal.

Then, he narrows his eyes. «Are you going to cook?»

Emma scowls at him. «I do know how to cook and you know it.» Walking past him, she starts removing the fake eyelashes. «I’m going to shower, first. You’re welcome to join me, if yo-»

She stops, dead in her tracks, spine as stiff as a board as realization dawns on her.

_Oh dear, that escalated quickly_. Tom Ellis as Lucifer is both the best and worst thing that she ever saw, because he seems to be trapped in her head, and her mind doesn’t need him to make fun of her at all when she’s just propositioned Killian.

Emma’s breath catches when she ears soft footsteps nearing her and then Killian’s presence is all over her; hell, she almost _feels_ his body heat radiating off him. That’s crazy, isn’t it? But then his breath is warm on her skin and no amount of make-up will reduce the storm brewing inside Emma, how the butterflies just take flight and she’s very much away that Killian is just a few inches away from touching her back with his toned chest.

A sigh escapes her lips and her next words don’t surprise her as much as they should. «Please tell me you didn’t wax your chest.»

A low chuckle. «Why don’t you check for yourself?»

Suddenly, she’s spun around, her back pressed against the wall, just like every, _every_ inch of him is. There’s no way he can’t feel the swells of her breasts pressing against the hard planes of his chest and the stiff bulge in his pants rubbing over her lower abdomen.

She hums, pondering his offer before she takes him by surprise untucking his Henley from his jeans and divesting him of it. The clothing lands somewhere nearby, not that she cares: all Emma can focus on right now is the vast expanse of skin bared to her eyes and still covered with dark hair.

A moan rips from Killian’s throat at the sensation of Emma scratching his stomach, just before he pounces and his mouth is on her, a bit sticky because of the make-up still covering their lips, but not their tongues and goddamnit, Killian Jones tastes amazingly. It may also be because of the sickening amount of chocolate he’s downed, so perhaps she needs to taste him a bit longer and on different occasions.

That’s a really nice thought.

One Emma acts on as they stumble inside the bathroom, clothes left in a trail behind them and muttered curses because _holy shit_ , his body is a piece of work and the way Killian praises hers makes her want him even more.

They come together in every way that counts with blue and red and black swirling around their feet as part of their make-up and dye is washed off.

Killian stays for dinner.

And breakfast as well.

-/-

It takes no time for Emma to get obsessed over another song, so when she first sends the first verse of _Break My Stride_ , she’s only a bit surprised that Killian replies with the second one.

Really, that man should be made Saint for putting up with her and her obsessions, but if he can live with that, she can definitely live with his neat freak ways and his absurd yet adorable love for _Star Wars_.

Ah, yes, they live together now.

And Killian got a TikTok account as well.

Which means he’s spiraled down the rabbit hole, too, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Emma laughs and pats him on the shoulder every time he complains about spending way too much time on that bloody app, but she can’t help the way her jaw crashes on the ground when _What A Man Gotta Do_ by Jonas Brothers - another obsession Emma fell prey of because, duh, those are the Jonas Brothers, come on! - fills the air and Killian makes his appearance in the living room as she’s watching Lucifer on Netflix - _again_. What shocks her is the way he’s dressed, with just one of his shirts, a pair of white briefs and knee-high socks.

She’s too dumbfounded to move, not even to film the impressive dance moves he’s showing off, but she does join him in that crazy dance, laughing most of the time because she’s uncoordinated and is wearing one of Killian’s shirts and knee-high socks as well.

The only thing that differentiates her from Priyanka Chopra is the lack of an engagement and wedding ring on her finger.

Unlike her obsessions, though, that difference doesn’t last long.


End file.
